


Hidden

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Exhibitionism, F/M, Ficlet, M/M, PWP, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 04:16:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3836731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tauriel stumbles on a surprise in the cells.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hidden

**Author's Note:**

  * For [milkywaymidnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkywaymidnight/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for kathrynparis’ “Tauriel checks upon their most important prisoner, only to find that Legolas had beaten her to it and was currently getting himself fucked senseless by the Dwarven Prince while Thorin covers his mouth to keep him quite. Legolas can't see her from his angle, but Thorin does. He simply grins at her smugly and keeps on fucking her friend, who seems to enjoy what Thorin is doing, so she leaves them be, but she can't take her eyes off the sight before her and before she knows it, she's all hot and bothered (Who wouldn't be?) and has to relieve herself, so she masturbates in front of them. Bonus points if this ends up a threesome!” prompt on [The Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/14338.html?thread=25764610#t25764610).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

She’s halfway up the path when she hears it: a sharp hitch of breath, followed by a _moan_.

It’s muffled but unmistakable, the voice vaguely familiar, so hushed that Tauriel wouldn’t have heard it if she weren’t between footsteps. She freezes immediately, ears straining. Only an elf could’ve caught it, and indeed, none of her prisoners seem at all interested in anything beyond their bars. They’re all clumped together, half on this side of the walkway and the other across the river’s divide. For most of her shift, she watches them—there are, after all, twelve dwarves down here, and only one that’s been moved to the upper levels. 

But she has to check on her most important prisoner at some point, and judging from the direction of the noises—for now there’s a quiet litany—now would be a good time to do so. 

Tauriel walks with caution. She’s been a guard long enough to know that things can go wrong even in seemingly impenetrable cells, and the element of surprise is always valuable. Her feet are feather-light around the twisting path, and she’s careful to stick to the rock wall as she turns the sharp corners. At the final one, she only pokes her head around, surveying the bars still closed. Over the gush of the water below, she can hear the noises, louder now, and she takes another step, still carefully tight to the stone. She gets no farther, primarily because shock has turned her legs to stone. 

_Legolas_ is inside. The prince, who often involves himself in her affairs but has no real reason to be in the dungeon at all, has evidently come to check on their prime prisoner before her. 

Only, he’s been sucked inside. He’s on his knees in the dirt, just short of the bars, his head pulled back over the shoulder of _Thorin Oakenshield._ The thick dwarf is braced behind Legolas, also on his knees, though his are upright instead of bent forward so they’re nearly the same height. The yellow-white hair cascading over Legolas’ shoulders is unmistakable, though his mouth is open in an expression she’s never seen on him before, his eyes covered by Thorin’s, ducked forward. Legolas’ lips are only alone, wide and wet, for a split-second, before Thorin’s meaty palm is back over them, fingers wrapped around Legolas’ jaw, muffling another cry. Thorin’s dark stubble trails along Legolas’ long neck, and then Thorin bears his teeth and sinks them into Legolas’ flesh, making the prince scream all the louder and arch into the touch. 

His tunic is open, showing his whole chest. His rosy nipples are perked in the air, Thorin’s other hand running between them, caressing Legolas’ stomach, down his taut muscles, along the hem of his tights, which have been pushed farther down his hips than need be—when Legolas is thrust forward, Tauriel understands why. 

Thorin’s _fucking_ him. Thorin, king of dwarves, is eagerly fucking her prince, while Legolas’ own cock stays trapped and straining in its confines, a little damp patch showing through. 

Tauriel nearly has to cover her own mouth. As soon as she manages to pull back into herself, she realizes she’s been ogling his body. As much as pursuing him never seemed worth his father’s wrath, she still finds Legolas undeniably attractive, especially, apparently, when he’s being pitched forward by a Dwarven cock. 

When she forces herself to concentrate—though she can’t bring herself to fully look away—the first instinct is to rush in and rescue him. But she can’t figure out how in the world he would’ve gotten inside in the first place—he must’ve opened it himself. Either he had the key, or Thorin did, and surely a prisoner wouldn’t waste time lingering about, no matter how tempting certain stray elves might be. 

While she’s still thinking, Thorin hisses, in a voice that wouldn’t carry far past her hiding place, “If you can’t keep quiet, we’ll have to cover your mouth better.” His growl is possessive and feral. Just as she would imagine dwarves to be in bed. Or better yet, in the roughness of a cell. 

Peeking back around the corner, Tauriel finds that Legolas minds this gruffness no more than she does in her daydreams. Eyes half-lidded and only for Thorin, he obediently lifts up, turning slowly, shifting his legs to face Thorin. From the way his tights are tugged all the way down his thighs at the back, exposing two tight, round cheeks, she assumes he hasn’t left Thorin’s cock. Once settled, he wraps his arms around his host and tilts his face to kiss Thorin, long and sensual. The angle is just enough for her to be out of his peripherals, but she doesn’t need to see his face to read the language of his body; he hasn’t been captured at all—he’s _enjoying_ this.

King Thranduil would have a heart attack. Tauriel doesn’t blame the prince at all for coming to the depths of the dungeons to enjoy his predilections. But she’s still filled with curiosity, and far more pronounced, _lust_. Both of them are exceedingly handsome men, even if she would never say so about Thorin around other Elven ears, but it’s true. Judging by the way Legolas clings to Thorin’s broad shoulders and plays with the dark waves of Thorin’s hair, he must agree.

And over his shoulder, Thorin has the perfect angle for his eyes to flicker to Tauriel, his mouth twisting in a smirk.

Tauriel was already frozen. Now she’s petrified, eyes going wide and cheeks darkening. She should go. She’s interrupting. She’s spying on two lovers who obviously want nothing more than each other’s cocks, and if she had any sense, she’d flee while she can still do so with dry clothes, and then she can lock herself in her office or room to touch herself and fantasize out the rest. Legolas’ back isn’t as erotic a sight as his debauched front was, but watching his lithe form roll sensually with each of Thorin’s thrusts is still enough to make her squirm. Thorin’s hips deliver one harsh shove after the other, filling Legolas up—she doesn’t have to see the details to know exactly what’s happening. She can hear it in Legolas’ broken voice, muffled around his lover’s mouth or neck or shoulder, see it in the way he trembles, smell the arousal in the air. Thorin’s smug look lingers over her, but then he turns back kiss his prince. 

Can she go? Perhaps that’s his dismissal—if she leaves now, no one will ever speak of it again. But her legs aren’t working. Thorin’s efforts have redoubled, and Legolas gasps with every one of them, moaning and writhing and trying to push down to take more, his back arched and his hair sticking to his face in places—he’s actually working up a _sweat_ —so wanton and desperate to be ravished by a dwarf. 

And over his shoulder, Thorin growls, “Do it.” His eyes are on her, burning. 

Legolas breathlessly asks, “What?” But Thorin just grabs a chunk of Legolas’ hair, pushing him back down into the crook of Thorin’s neck, clearly just to shut him up. Legolas takes the rough treatment, hips rocking all the harder for it. Thorin doesn’t answer him. It’s clear who the order’s for.

She never could resist the order of a king. Tauriel finds herself obeying. She doesn’t know what he wants of her, but she knows what _she_ wants, and she gives in, slowly sinking to her knees. Her hand runs down her body, cupping herself between the legs, squeezing and grinding in with the heel of her palm. Thorin’s flushed face is full of approval, his eyes fixed on her crotch. She slips her fingers in beneath her belt, below the fabric, and she lets them curl around her moist lips. She’s soaking wet, and rubbing one digit down her middle only makes it worse. 

But she doesn’t get far. The guilt is almost as strong as the desire, because even if Legolas wants Thorin, he didn’t invite _her_. She finds herself whining, high-pitched and as sweat slick as his own voice, “My lord...”

Legolas’ hips stop immediately. He jerks back from Thorin, head whipping around, staring in shock. She’s never seen his face so lost before.

As soon as he’s recovered, his eyes trail down her body. A thrust from Thorin makes his breath hitch. The lust is creeping back onto him—she’s always suspected that he wanted her. 

Thorin moves behind himself, and in a heartbeat, tosses the keys through the bars. They clink along the stone floor, sliding towards her in a heap. She looks down at the iron ring, hazy. 

“Come inside,” Thorin tells her, his voice deep and powerful, calling to every part of her. “Your pussy should make a good instrument to muffle Legolas’ cries.”

Legolas looks back at his lover, then to Tauriel, who finds herself nodding to say _yes_ , she’d very much _like that_ —a dwarf like that, and her handsome prince? How could she refuse? She reaches for the keys.

Legolas turns slowly back to Thorin, milking his last few moments alone, and Tauriel wraps her messy fingers around the keys, moving to slip inside.


End file.
